


Fruit Punch Lips (Title to be finalised)

by orphan_account



Category: X-Men - All Media Types, X-Men: Days of Future Past (2014) - Fandom, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Curator Charles, Daddy Kink, Gen, Lawyer Erik, Librarian Charles, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-27
Updated: 2013-07-27
Packaged: 2017-12-21 12:33:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/900357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Erik is a prestigious lawyer at highly-acclaimed firm, Frost & Lehnsherr. Charles is his children's elementary school librarian (but only on Mondays and Wednesdays, and the first Friday of every month). Wanda is the top of her 2nd-year class, and reads at a 7th-grade level. Pietro is on the track team and enjoys pop rocks. This is the story of how the twins found their father happiness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fruit Punch Lips (Title to be finalised)

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by kageillusionz, Frankenstien, and (insert other beta's username here).

_“…I’ve been travelling too long, I’ve been trying too hard, with one pretty song…”_

Erik’s eyes flutter awake, vision blurry, thoughts hazy. Reaching an arm across the expanse of mattress he clicks ‘Snooze’ on his alarm to silence the ever-lovely Miss Lana del Rey, and rolls over to check the time. _5:23am._ Perfect time to jump in the shower and start on breakfast before the twins wake up.

 

\---

 

Erik stands under the running water, letting the droplets sit in the corner of his eyes, running down along his nose, savouring the quiet peace of the morning before the school run and coffee rush, not to mention the torture in store for him today at the office. _No_ , he thinks, _don’t think about it until it’s happening. Properly savour these moments, dummkopf._

 

Lathering up his palms with the twin’s _Suave for Kids 3-in-1 Shampoo, Conditioner, & Body Wash _in ‘Wacky Melon’ scent, (Erik always neglects to purchase his own amenities. He honestly doesn’t see the point in one person using one type and everyone else using another. Besides, it’s ‘Wacky Melon’ scented, and who doesn’t love a wacky melon?), he runs his hands through his hair, massaging his scalp, and is calmed by the sweet smell of the gel.

 

Grabbing the exfoliating puff and squeezing more of gel onto it, Erik starts caressing his shoulders. He’s always feels so secure in showers, like nothing can touch him. Unbeknownst to himself, Erik starts to hum. A non-descript tune, a note here and there, until he catches himself singing.

 

_“She wore blue velvet, bluer than velvet were her eyes, warmer than May her tender sighs, love was ours…”_

Erik chuckles to himself, soaking in the sheer joy emanating from his body, as he washes the suds from his chest, running his hands down to his groin and takes himself in hand. He hasn’t done this in a very long time, he muses, hasn’t even had the thought to.

 

Leaning into the stream of water and bracing an arm against the tiled wall, Erik starts caressing his dick, rubbing up and down his length as the stream of water runs along his back and down his arse. With the aid of the soapy suds he begins pumping, losing control of himself from the sheer force of pent-up sexual frustration he was harbouring. He braces his feet against the non-slip silicone shower mat, preparing for the over-powering shockwaves of pure pleasure, breathing heavily in harsh gasps, wishing he’d picked a better place to do this than the shower as his balls are unsatisfyingly neglected. Clenching his braced hand into a fist and reflexively contorting his face from the tension, Erik pumps again and again, gaining speed and maintaining grip the way he’s done since adolescence when he discovered the magic between his legs. Arching his back and tensing every muscle in his body (as much involuntarily as to remain standing), Erik leans his face into the stream of water and opens his mouth as he comes, ejaculating thick surges of semen onto the tiles in front of him, his breaths haphazard and jumpy, his eyes tightly closed. He takes great care to not make a sound when he comes, as much for the twin’s sakes as for his own dignity, and carefully cleans his mess from the tiled wall.

 

Turning off the faucets and stepping out of the shower, Erik wipes the condensation from the mirror and stands there naked, grinning sheepishly at himself in earnest. It has been a very long time – probably too long – since Erik was sexually satisfied in any meaning of the term. Not since the twins were conceived, to be perfectly honest.

 

Magda had been a wary virgin and was terrified of anything to do with sex – mostly, Erik thought, due to her heavily Catholic up-bringing, her lack of education in her small European town, and her poor relationship with her mother – so their wedding bed was the first and only time they had consummated their relationship. That isn’t to say that Magda was not keen for it or unwilling; she was just terrified, pure and simple. If it weren’t for her being told it was her duty to give herself wholly to her groom on their wedding night, Erik doubts they would have ever. The twins wouldn’t have been born, and Magda would still be here with the three of them.

 

Sometimes Erik feels himself guilty for Magda’s death. After all, he was the one who put those babies in her tummy; he was the one who proposed to her. Hell, he was the one who turned up at her doorstep, a charming boy of seventeen, anxiously twisting his cap between his hands as he greeted the pretty new girl who had just moved in across the road. He hadn’t seen much of Magda back then, as her mother was wholly opposed to the two of the spending any time together, even while heavily supervised at community events. But Erik had a twinkle in his eye, and he had already given her his everything. _Dummer Junge,_ Erik thinks, _you could have saved her this life._

Looking up at his reflection again, the mirror had fogged over again, but this time Erik couldn’t look himself in the eye. Finishing drying off, Erik wanders out of the bathroom and starts the quick jog down the hall to his bedroom, hoping the twins haven’t woken up yet.

 

“Papa!”

 

_Scheiße…_

 

“Papa why are you naked! I told you to take your clothes into the bathroom when you shower! That way you wouldn’t need to do the silly man run down the hall every morning!” Wanda shrieks into the hallway from her shared room with Pietro (the master bedroom in the apartment – Erik saw no point in keeping the biggest room for only him, what with all the emptiness that would promote…). She jumps into the doorway, chestnut curls framing her face delicately, a cat-shaped barette (maybe Hello Kitty? Erik can’t keep up with all these Pokemen and Sailor Rangers) neatly placed to keep her bangs out of her eyes (she really needed a haircut). Her sparkle-pattern flannelette pyjamas hung loose on her frame, as she was a small child; probably from putting all her energy into being a bossy control freak, just like her father).

 

“Wanda, liebchen, please. It’s too early for debating shower rules.” Erik says, rubbing his free hand over his face, pulling at the already too-deep wrinkles.

 

“Nuh-uh, Papa. It’s 6am and you need to start breakfast now or Pietro and I will be late for our first day back! And you _know_ how important the first day back is, don’t you Papa?” Wanda states sternly, hands on her hips. Erik swears he’s heard someone say that to her before, most probably him on one of his school-is-important rants, so he takes it as a stab to his memory and ideals, and replies.

 

“Well I can’t rightly get dressed while I’m talking to you, now can I?” Erik chuckles, smiling at his perfectly bossy daughter.

 

Wanda opens her mouth, leaning towards her father about to retort, when she realises she has nothing to say and quickly shuts her mouth, regains her dancer-posture and simply skips away into the lounge area. Erik rolls his eyes, _so much like her Oma,_ and smiles to himself as he slips into his bedroom. Opening his small free-standing closet Erik stares at his choices of clothing for the day. Black pinstripe jacket with pink tie? _Hideous_. Silver-blue tie with a light grey faded-paisley patterned suit? _Better, but hardly perfect._ Erik catches himself in the reflection of the small mirror placed on top of his dresser. _You haven’t been perfect for a long time, old boy. Just put on the suit._ Donning the grey suit with silver-blue tie, sighing to himself that he seriously needs to get himself a better set of clothes, and then resigns to get his personal assistant to do it for him instead. Perched on the end of his bed, tying up his shoes, he hears the door creak from behind.

 

“..P-..Papa?”

 

“Yes, Schnecke?” Erik replies softly, finishing tying the last knot and half-turning to look at the tiny face peering around the bedroom door at him, 

eyes wide, almost brimming with tears. “What is wrong, my dear boy?”

 

“I’m… It’s not that I’m scared. But.. I don’t like first days back, Papa.” Pietro mutters to himself, loudly enough that Erik can comprehend what he says.

 

“They’re always a bit daunting, yes.” Erik replies, not quite knowing what to say, which, to be honest, is par for the course when speaking to Pietro. He’s never been very in touch with the boy. They’re just too different. He takes a lot after his mother, but with Erik’s headstrong sensibilities, so Erik is completely lost for how to reply. Until he looks at his son’s expression; it is of sheer, un-containable anxiety. Erik gestures for the boy to come closer, and Pietro races across the room towards his father and jumps into his embrace in what seemed only a fraction of a second. Embracing his young son, Erik feels a wave of nostalgia run through him for all the times his mother embraced him when he was younger, as she cooed away all the bad thoughts, and healed all the bad words as she rocked him back and forth and hummed a song he never bothered to ask her the name of before she died.

 

“Papa… What is that song you are singing?” Pietro asks, looking up at his father, wide-eyed and obviously distressed by the thought of the day, but quizzical about the strange tune his father had seemed to pull from the air.

 

Erik starts. _He was singing?_

 

Pietro starts humming the tune his mother used to, and it hits Erik like a tidal wave, and he grabs his young son and refuses to let go, willing the tears at bay and hoping to God he doesn’t stress Pietro further. The kid doesn’t need that extra stress.

 

“It’s all right if you don’t want to tell me, Papa. I have secrets, too.” Pietro says, pulling away from his father. His face reads of sudden realisation – probably that he is not the only one in the family that deals with things like paranoia – and he pulls away from Erik, patting him on the shoulder. _Geez,_ Erik thinks, _for such a young kid he really is grown up… Maybe I treat him too much like an adult?_

 

Pietro takes hold of his father’s hand and marches him out of the bedroom, his Sonic the Hedgehog onesie hanging semi-loose, the feet dragging on the floor behind the young boy. Pietro leads Erik into the kitchen, placing him in front of the stovetop where the ingredients for pancakes have been laid out by Wanda, who is currently sitting at the island bench, grinning like a maniac. _Pancakes it is…_

 

“Y’know, it’s just as effective to say, ‘Papa, can we have pancakes for breakfast this morning?’ than to attempt manipulation, Hase.” Erik coos at his daughter, his eyes full of admiration. Wanda giggles, wriggling in her seat, and ushers Erik to get cooking with a hand-motion demonstrating stirring in a bowl.

 

Erik sighs and measures out a cup of flour and a cup of milk, mixing them together in the mixing bowl and cracking an egg into the semi-congealed mess. He ladles a small amount of the mixture into a pan and spreads it thin. _Forget pancakes. It’s a crepe day._

 

“Wanda… Are you at all nervous about today?” Pietro whispers to his sister, both of them seated at the island kitchen bench, concern dripping from his words.

 

“Why at all would I be _nervous_? Pietro you’re so silly!” Wanda replies, giggling at her twin. Erik swiftly turns around, placing two plates of crepes in front of the twins, and gives Wanda the eye, motioning for her to look at her brother and stop being so conceited and ignorant about other people’s feelings – the girl is borderline sociopathic some days.

 

Wanda turns to her brother and concern washes over her face as she notices the deep lines under his eyes, and the obvious traces of sleep in the corners of his eyes. “Oh, Pete… You know it’ll all be fine!” Wanda assures her twin, and then, in a hushed whisper, “is this about… you-know-who?”

 

“Wanda, darling what have I told you about whispering while other people are in the room?” Erik sighs from the stovetop.

 

“That I’m not to do it because it’s rude and can be hurtful to people who think too much.” Erik can hear the astute smugness in her words and shakes his head.

 

“Sis... I don’t wanna talk about… _Him_.” Pietro mutters under his breath, stuffing a whole crepe into his mouth, obviously shutting the conversation down from embarrassment.

 

“Who’s this _Him_ and what’s _He_ done?” Erik asks, leaning against the counter holding his own plate of crepes. Pietro shoots daggers at Wanda for bringing it up, but the over-crowded crepes sticking out of the young boy’s mouth lessen the effect.

 

“His name is Jean-Paul and he’s this mean kid who just moved here from Canada. He’s on the track team with Pietro and absolutely _hates_ both Pietro and me for no reason! Miss Grey just says he’s jealous of Pietro’s skills on the track but I think he’s just _insane._ ” Wanda totes happily, obviously glad to finally be sharing this information with her father.

 

“Sounds like he’s got issues…” Erik states calmly, finishing the last of his crepes and gathering up the empty plates into the sink. “Has he done anything specifically mean to you, Schnecke?”

 

“He calls me names… And says that I’ll never run faster than him and that Wanda and I copied him and his sister because they’re both twins too and- and- and- he’s just super mean for no reason!” Pietro manages to blurt out, his mouth running off from having to keep it all to himself all this time. “I just don’t want to go to school because I’ll have to see him again and I don’t want to be told that I’m a cheater or a copycat because I’m NOT, Papa! I’m NOT A COPYCAT!” Pietro shouts, standing on the rungs of his chair and leaning on the counter-top. There are tears running down his little face now, and Wanda has her hand placed on his arm, trying to soothe his worries.

 

Erik walks around the counter and takes his young son in his arms, cradling his head against his shoulder and bopping him up-and-down as he used to when the twins were only fussy young babies. “It’s all-right, Liebling. I’ll talk to your teacher when we get to school today—“

 

“NO! You can’t do that! Then he’ll know I’m a tattler!” Pietro shrieks against Erik, pushing away from him to look him in the eye. “Papa I can’t be known as a tattle-tale I just can’t! Everybody already thinks I’m a copycat! Please!”

 

Shaking his head at the complexities of young life, Erik sighs. “What would you rather have me do, Pete? Move you to another school? Annihilate this young boy and his family? Alter reality so that he never existed?”

 

“Oh I’ve always wanted to be able to do that!” Wanda shouts, obviously worked up by the tension in the air and all this shouting from her brother.

 

“Please, Wanda, not now.” Erik pleads, letting his son drop from his grip and placing a hand against his forehead, rubbing his temple with thumb and fore finger. “Just… Can the two of you go get dressed so we can go to school already?”

“Okay, Papa!” Wanda giggles as she runs past her father, pulling at her brother’s arm.

 

“Promise me you won’t tell!” Pietro shouts as he’s pulled into his bedroom, “promise me, Papa!”

 

“I promise, Liebling. I won’t tell…” Erik mutters to himself. _Always with the secrets, Erik… When will you learn?_


End file.
